


Love that Loathsome Laugh

by I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Self-Esteem Issues, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, self-deprication, ugly laughs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29981388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee/pseuds/I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee
Summary: Geralt is ashamed of his laugh and tries his best to hide it from Jaskier. After all, how could the man with the pretty laugh not be disgusted by Geralt's hideous laugh?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 197





	Love that Loathsome Laugh

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: The Horse and the Wolf  
> Alas, I am bad with titles and can't resist an alliteration

Witchers didn’t laugh.

It’s not that they couldn’t. If any human were to ever visit the witchers’ keep during the winter, they would be stunned by the laughter roaring through its halls.

But as soon as the witchers parted ways in spring, when children giggled and lovers shared a laugh, the witchers laughter faded away as if it never existed.

It was for the better this way. No one wanted to hear a witcher laugh. The idea that witchers were capable of experiencing emotions was preposterous enough, but hearing one laugh? That for most people sounded downright terrifying. Uncanny. Unnatural.

The few occasions when Geralt had let his laugh – rough and barking – slip, the people who had heard him had blanched and their hearts had started racing in fear.

So he stopped laughing. It wasn’t as if there wasn’t much that made him want to laugh on the Path anyway.

At least there wasn’t until he met Jaskier. Joyful, energetic, funny Jaskier, who seemed to want nothing more than to get Geralt to laugh, as if it was a challenge to pass the time.

The idiot had never known what was good for him.

If he knew how close he sometimes came to winning his stupid game, Jaskier wouldn’t shut up about it.

Years of experience and training was all that let Geralt keep his stony mask of indifference, when Jaskier started openly and painstakingly counting every coin in front of a stingy alderman when he thought Geralt was swindled out of his pay, until the alderman started to stammer pathetic excuses and gave Geralt the coin he had promised. Jaskier’s smug smile that he always sent Geralt when he did this was begging to be returned.

When Jaskier gave a sarcastic comment about superstitious townsfolk who hired Geralt to get rid of some imaginary monster, when really it was just children wreaking havoc in the night, Geralt wanted to snort.

And when Jaskier spontaneously composed dirty or scathing ditties while walking next to Roach, it took all of Geralt’s discipline not to bark out that laugh that he knew would make Jaskier stop singing and drive him from his side.

Sometimes when Jaskier seemed so frustratingly determined to force a laugh out of Geralt, he was almost tempted to give in, just to watch Jaskier’s face twist into something ugly as he realised that he never wanted to hear such a nasty sound again. Let him have his victory. Let him win his stupid game and be done with it.

But Geralt knew he wouldn’t be able to look at Jaskier ever again – even if by some miracle Jaskier wouldn’t leave him – knowing he had terrified him with his inhuman display of happiness.

So Geralt turned away, time and time again, before he could smile. A baring of teeth that could easily be mistaken for a grimace when really it was Geralt holding back a laugh was the most Jaskier ever got from him on most days. Maybe a huff or a snort when Geralt felt daring and he was too exhausted to reign himself in as much as he should, but even that felt like too much, like it could drive Jaskier away.

And how could it not?

It was a wonder Jaskier even tolerated these grotesque sounds, when he himself had such a pleasant laugh that he was able to give so freely.

When Jaskier performed at court, his laugh was moderate, quaint and lasted just long enough to be suitable for court.

In taverns, Jaskier let out a hearty belly laugh that sounded like the very nature of his bawdy songs and made others want to join in.

Geralt never did, though everything in him wished he could. It must feel like coming home laughing with Jaskier.

Sometimes he forgot himself and twisted his lips into an ugly smile.

His restraint never stayed forgotten for long though. It always came back with a force that felt like a punch in the gut when people around him stopped laughing, their grins turning into masks of shock and their chuckles into hushed whispers that Geralt wished he couldn’t hear.

“Witchers can’t feel.”

“It just looks so _wrong_.”

“That is how a wolf looks at its prey before killing it.”

It wasn’t. It was how Geralt wanted to look at Jaskier, if only he was allowed to. He wanted to smile and show him how much he appreciated him with naught but a look.

Instead, his smile dropped and his eyes darted to Jaskier in a panic that only soothed out when it became clear that Jaskier hadn’t noticed his _unfeeling, wrong, predatory_ smile.

He couldn’t risk Jaskier seeing him like that. So Geralt went back to their room, straining his ears to hear Jaskier’s singing, playing and laughter through the walls, though he wants more than anything to hear it clearly and be a part of it, even if he doesn’t feel like laughing anymore.

It wasn’t easy and it was far from good, but it was doable.

Until one day, it wasn’t.

They had made camp in the woods early, talking about the latest contract, their usual back and forth as they shared their meal.

Geralt didn’t even know what exactly he had said. Something sarcastic probably but nothing funny, for sure. Witchers weren’t funny. What would be the point of cracking jokes when everyone around them would be too scared of them to laugh?

So no, Geralt didn’t think he said anything funny. Which was likely the reason why he didn’t recognise or even understand the sound that left Jaskier’s mouth.

It was nothing like anything Geralt had ever heard from Jaskier.

Geralt’s brows drew together in concern, when Jaskier’s breathing came in irregular gasps.

“Are you alright? Jaskier?” Geralt scooted over to him, patting him on the back harshly. “Are you choking?”

As abruptly as the sound had started, it stopped. Jaskier turned bright red and there were unshed tears glistening in his eyes. For a long stretch of time, Jaskier was eerily quiet.

Until he risked one look at Geralt and the sound came bursting out again.

Geralt drew back in confusion, as Jaskier doubled over, noises that sounded vaguely like a neighing horse leaving him. It was all snort and tears rolling down his cheek, turning his skin splotchy.

It was only when Jaskier started wheezing and holding onto Geralt for support that Geralt realised what it was. His eyes went wide.

No, it couldn’t be – but, now that he had come to that strange conclusion there was no doubt about it: Jaskier was _laughing_.

Not the dainty courtly laugh, nor the inviting laugh that made people want to drink and shout for an encore.

This sounded _real_ and as if it couldn’t be contained, as if Jaskier was unable to stop himself like he did when he was performing.

Jaskier had the ugliest laugh Geralt had ever heard. It was hilarious and nothing short of contagtous in its unexpected ridiculousness.

The bark escaped Geralt before he even realised what he was doing.

For a terrifying moment they both froze.

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat when he heard Jaskier’s began to race. This was it. This was Jaskier’s victory that was bought with Geralt’s loss of his best friend.

But then something happened that Geralt hadn’t dared dream about. Jaskier’s smile stretched into the biggest, proudest grin that could possibly fit on Jaskier’s face and more of that horse-like laughter tumbled from his lips.

In that moment, Geralt knew one thing for certain. This was the most beautiful laugh he had ever heard and he would do everything in his power to hear it again, this ugly laugh that Jaskier showed only to him.

After a moment Geralt finally joined in with Jaskier’s laughter – neighing and barking ringing through the forest. If there had been any townsfolk nearby, they might have gotten frightened, wishing the witcher and his bard were near to rid them of the beast in the night making such horrendous noises.

But no frightened villager was near, only Jaskier who didn’t blanch, didn’t draw back, but leaned against Geralt to steady himself while he laughed.

After that night, Jaskier didn’t stop his efforts to tease a laugh out of Geralt. If anything, he doubled his efforts, but only when they were alone and free to laugh in their hideous and real way as much as they wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to all the people with beautifully ugly laughs


End file.
